Home For the Holidays: A 'Magic, As Opposed to Magic' Omake
by The Rev. Cardboard Box
Summary: In a splay far, far away from 'Magic, As Opposed to Magic' canon, Harry got permission to bring his friends home for a good old-fashioned Saturalia. Seasoned gleetings to you too.
1. Chapter 1

**Home For the Holidays: A ****_Magic, as Opposed to Magic_**** Omake**

Obviously this story, dear reader, is a little silly thing, since 'twould be nonsensical to drag four firsties away from their parents into another universe...

**For those not up to speed with the modern slang:**

"Omake" apparently is a corruption of the Japanese term for 'extra'. So here's a wee seasonal extra: Imagine that Ra'jirra somehow not only got to take Harry home for the Tamrielic version of Christmas, but all his friends as well...

**Right, let's get on with it:**

Eighty percent of the child population stared around the tower chamber in confusion and surprise. The other twenty percent was Harry Potter, who'd been here before.

Hermione's eyes were drawn to the bookshelves almost immediately. Ron's gravitated to one of the more muscular paintings, then started looking for something to eat. Draco studied a pair of sinister-looking black crystals flanking a set of black robes bearing the symbol of a skull and skeletal arms the colour of dried blood.

"Mannimarco's," Harry said behind the blonde, "Nearly died dealing to the bugger."

Salissa squirmed out of Harry's jumper and went straight for a small bowl of fruit on the council table, just missing Ron's outstretched hand. _Oh look!_ She hissed in delight, _new fruits!_

"What are those anyway?" Neville's botanical instincts were curbed by a hungry Arabian winged serpent. _They're mine,_ she hissed a little petulantly, _and delicious!_

It is quite possible that she moaned in ecstacy as she made that last declaration.

"Never seen them before," Harry frowned at the oddly silvery-brown fruit. "Dad might know."

"Where is he though?" Hermione asked, looking up from a shelf of particularly tired works as if expecting the Arch-Mage to throw off a disillusionment charm.

"Upstairs probably," Harry shrugged, "changing into his work clothes."

As if to prove him right one of the oddly glowing pads on the floor disgorged a pillar of light that condensed into the Khajiit in question.

Eighty percent of the chamber's children stared at the Arch-Mage in surprise, very much like they had when Harry had led them into the Shrieking Shack in the first place and shown them their first mer.

It had to be said that, even with sixty-odd years silvering his muzzle, Ra'jirra in his work clothes was still impressive. The metallic boots he wore had three oddly pointed toes, the helmet sported two horns that almost met in a perfect circle. Beneath it, a cuirass, mostly of the same style, looking almost like reptile scales. His greaves and gauntlets, however, were plain brown leather. Hanging off a shoulder was a small pack, while an unstrung bow and several arrows were peering out of a quiver he was holding in his right hand. The other rested on the hilt of some sort of brass-coloured club with a spherical head, hanging from a sling on his left hip.

Naturally the children from Earth were _not_ expecting the Arch-Mage of the Imperial Mage's Guild to look anything like _that._

"Right then, you must be Hermione," his feline gaze fell on the only girl in the group, "you'd be Malfoy – Longbottom – Weasley. Now, we need to go through the Imperial City to get to the stables. It's quicker to go on horseback, but it'll still take most of the day to get to Faregyl. Stay close to me and watch your gear – there's pickpockets. Also I can tell you a bit about our fair city so you'll _want_ to stay close, right?"

Hermione's eyes lit up at the thought of learning something new, while the boys looked a little overawed. Harry just looked like he wanted to go home soonest.

"It's Evening Star, obviously," Ra'jirra went on, "but from what I know you'll find here a bit more temperate. Unless you'd rather pop north to Bruma..."

_No thank you!_ Salissa hissed in outrage from around a second queer fruit.

"She said no," Harry translated for his father as he picked up the little snake from the table.

"Well tell her to lay off the alocasia fruit," Ra'jirra grunted, then looked askance at the trunks the children had brought along. "I'll scare up some porters."

Draco frowned thoughtfully, then pulled out his wand. "_Diminutuus,_" he intoned, jinking his wand forward, across, down, then pulling it back; his own trunk immediately shrank to the size of a packet of playing cards.

"Draco! We're not supposed to use magic outside of school!" Hermione burst out automatically.

"You're _in_ a school," Ra'jirra grinned at her, "and besides, I suspect that whatever your Ministry uses to detect magic wouldn't work here. Impressive little spell too."

Three rounds of _diminutuus _later, and only Neville's trunk remained. The boy's patience ran out, and he threw away his wand and jabbed his finger at it. _"Diminutuus!"_ he yelled in frustration.

Everyone was a surprised when Neville's chest shrank. "Wandless magic," he whispered, staring at his hand as though expecting it to take on a life of its own, "I just did wandless magic!"

"Sounds like Saturalia came early for you," Ra'jirra shrugged, "we call it business as usual. Pick up your stick and we'll be going. You don't keep my wife's dinner waiting."

**A bit later in the Imperial City Arboretum:**

"Don't," Ra'jirra warned Neville.

The old Kahjiit's patience was getting a little frayed, not because of Neville's understandable desire to collect cuttings of every plant and fungus in sight – territorial gardeners notwithstanding – but because of Hermione. She, as Harry had observed in his letters home, wanted to know everything and wanted to know it yesterday.

"Miss Granger," he interrupted her with (officially) only the slightest peevishness, "can we do a swap?"

The sudden silence came as a blessed relief to his old ears, even sheltered as they were under Ayleid metal. Hermione just stared at him with total incomprehension.

"It works like this," he explained, "I've got a few niggles about your world I'd like to sort out too. So here's what: You ask me a question, I answer it, then I ask _you_ a question and you answer it. One at a time. Deal?"

Harry and Ron were trying not to laugh. Neville just looked sympathetic, while Draco just smirked. One of the mudblood's more annoying traits was that she was obsessed with knowing everything, and to hell with the consequences – or the sensibilities of those she interrogated.

"Oh, all _right_," she huffed with appropriately childish irritation.

"Righto, now, age before beauty so here's mine..."

Hermione found herself a bit flustered trying to explain the status of the monarchy in Britain, and Ra'jirra's occasional interjection of "Didn't quite get that bit" wasn't helping.

Behind them Neville and Harry were speaking quietly.

"I still can't believe I did wandless magic though," Neville marvelled, "Uncle Algy would probably die of shock if he saw it."

"Huh?" Harry was skeptical. "You've done it before."

"Yes, but that was... well, _your_ sort of spells. Fireballs and things. Not... _our_ sort!"

"Well don't get too excited," Harry shrugged, "one thing I've learned is that wands have their uses. Especially with the more complicated spells. I've never seen magic that can _really_ turn someone's hair red on one side and gold on the other."

Up ahead of them Draco's ears burned suddenly.

Their little procession had entered the Arboretum through a massive gate in the outer wall of the Imperial City, then turned left onto the great Rotunda of the Nine, before turning left again onto a path that curved gently right toward another wall and its gate. Ra'jirra stopped and waited until he had all five children's attention.

"We're entering the Temple District," he said sternly, "where Emperor Martin made his great sacrifice and Mehrunes Dagon was driven back into Oblivion. So you'll be respectful. You'll stay close to me. And you'll keep your purses where thieves can't swipe them. And finally," his face looked like he'd bitten into a rotten lemon, "don't feed the crazies or mess with any offerings you find. Got all that?"

Five young heads all nodded.

"Good. We'll be going down the main avenue here, around the Temple of the One, then out the far side into Talos Plaza. It's pretty crowded at the best of times, so remember: stay close."

The six closed on the gate, which was half open. Two city guards approached the gate as well. "We're your relief," one said to the closer guardsman, who made it clear that standing for hours in full armour in a heaving crowd was _not_ his idea of fun.

"Anything happen?" the new watch asked.

"Nah, just the usual crazies crying the end's nigh, or that Tiber Septim's coming back, and scuttlebutt reckons some jerk was trying to flog holy relics of the Emperor's robe again..."

The rest of the conversation was lost as Ra'jirra led them up the steps and through the gate. The only reason they continued through was the press of people.

Before them, great sturdy stone buildings rose two and even three stories into the air above the increasingly dense crowd. Streets darted off either side, hugging the wall, but the main thoroughfare was a mass of people and the odd cart. The pavements were mostly obscured by foot traffic and hawkers crying various gimcracks and foodstuffs, bards doing things to ballads, and more guardsmen attempting to keep the peace.

The main road itself continued to bend rightward, towards a singular domed building with an immense statue of a dragon seemingly thrust through the roof. Its base was obscured by the crowd.

"Stay close," Ra'jirra warned again, and joined the crowd.

The walk was not pleasant. Since the hawkers, ranters, and buskers all hugged the walls, everyone wanted to walk on the edge of the road away from them. For some reason, nobody seemed to want to walk on the road proper, which was cobblestone surrounding carved slabs.

"Are those plaques?" Hermione asked, "they remind me of –"

"They are," Ra'jirra interrupted, "Memorials to the fallen." His face became bleak. "A lot of good men, women and children lost their lives when Dagon came to play."

"They opened gates right inside the city," Harry jumped in, "about the time that Emperor Martin was going to be crowned. So Zul gro-Radish –"

"Radagash," his father corrected.

"Yeah – he escorted the Emperor all the way from the tower to the Temple of the One, killing _hundreds_ of daedra along the way, and then there was a _huge_ flash of flame and Dagon himself appeared, a hundred feet high! So Zul takes up this big claymore from a fallen dremora, and stabs it in his foot, and old Dagon yells like buggery and..."

Ra'jirra just chuckled and rolled his eyes as Harry excitedly told – at speed – a compilation of tales about the end of the Oblivion crisis, spiced with his own additions. Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes as Harry lovingly described at least four times as many axe-strokes as what must have _really_ happened.

"Nice story," a voice rumbled with amusement, "wish it'd been like that."

Harry stopped dead, his mouth hanging open. Behind him, a heavyset Orisimer in a subdued black and gold outfit grinned good-naturedly. Beside him, a similar creature, but noticably feminine even with her hair done in a set of tight knots, just punched her husband lightly on the shoulder.

"Don't torment the boy, Zul," she informed him, then went for his father. "Hail hail Trumpet–"

"A joyous Saturalia to you both Lord and Lady Bravil!" Ra'jirra cried out, then before she could continue, "children, this fellow is Zul gro-Radagash himself, Count of Bravil, Champion of Cyrodiil, Hero of Kvatch and a swag of other titles. And his wife, Mazoga, Countess of Bravil, Knight of the White Stallion, and general nightmare to anyone thick enough to try banditry between Pell's Gate and Leyawiin. Milord and Lady, my son, Associate and budding bard –"

Harry turned beet red.

"Harry Potter, and his friends: Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom. They're spending Saturalia with us at Faregyl."

Both Draco and Neville bowed formally to the Count and Countess; Harry followed suit while still glowing red. Ron looked a little baffled at first then bowed rather sloppily, while Hermione also stared like a deer caught in headlights before attempting a clumsy curtsey.

"No need for that," Zul chuckled, "all goin' the same way. We're off home today. Hit the stables, get our gear, off we go. Join us."


	2. Chapter 2

**For Those Who Came In Late:**

Season's greetings on you all... suckers. I'm having a little fun. It isn't canon. Say hello to Zul gro-Radagash, Champion of Cyrodiil, Hero of Kvatch, the new Count of Bravil, wife of Sir Mazoga, Master of the Fighters' Guild, and Grand Champion of the Arena.

**Anyway:**

The crowds had thickened as they approached the Temple of the One, but the presence of Harry's foster father and the Count and Countess of Bravil seemed to clear the way.

Once the Temple had been shining white marble, but now it was noticeably discoloured at ground level. Years of votive candles and offerings by pilgrims had stained the very stone, despite the priests' best efforts to stay ahead of the almost constant avalanche.

"Why'd they put the statue inside this place if it's too big?" Ron asked understandably, "Couldn't they have used an expansion charm or something?"

Behind him Harry groaned theatrically, and both Ra'jirra and Zul stared incredulously at him. "New village idiot?" the big Orisimer asked.

"Ron," Harry said in exasperation, "That statue _is_ Emperor Martin. Weren't you listening? After he sacrificed himself to become the avatar of Akatosh, and Akatosh defeated Dagon, he turned to stone, right on that spot!"

"Damn right," Zul nodded. "Poor sod. Brave though. Found out who he was, accepted it, did what he had to do." The big warrior's expression remained grave. "He would've been a good 'un."

Harry just nodded thoughtfully at that. While Dad didn't like Zul gro-Radagash, the taciturn Orc often seemed to see things mortal men didn't. After all, he was pretty much in the same boat as Emperor Martin was.

But hopefully without all the sacrificing himself bit.

"Didn't do it alone, of course," Zul added, jolting him out of his funk. "Had me, Baurus, the Legion. Fighters' Guild too. And the mages," he added, jerking his head at Ra'jirra.

Ra'jirra didn't respond. He was busy navigating a route that his charges and the Lord and Lady Bravil could take through the crowd of hawkers, gawkers, hysterics and pilgrims. Several times some people would recognise the Orisimer couple, but backed off quickly when Zul glowered at them.

"Almost there," Ra'jirra called over his shoulder, "there's Talos Plaza gate."

"Good," Hermione muttered, "I want out of here."

Draco silently agreed. He'd been excited to visit a world entirely populated by wizards, but what he'd seen so far hadn't been what he expected. Nobody seemed to be shrinking their packages down, few wore robes he recognised, and the general fragrance of the city streets – he held his breath as their little procession passed an especially aromatic alleyway.

And then there were the nonhumans. It was bad enough to learn that Harry's 'father' was one on Halloween, but they were _everywhere_ here! Elves, lizard people, these great green troll-like men...

"What the hells?" Ra'jirra's groan jolted him out of his fugue.

In front of their little party, two carts were blocking part of the main street, while a curious crowd blocked the rest of it, despite the guards' best attempts to keep traffic moving. The operators of the carts were discussing road rules and each other's intellect, proclivities and lineage in a most physical fashion, although the metallic approach of several more guardsmen suggested a looming ceasefire.

"Bugger this," the Arch-Mage shook his head, "We'll go 'round the outside."

Hermione looked around and then frowned. "Arch-Mage?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are these walls less damaged than the ones in, um, the Temple District?" She'd noticed quite early that many of the buildings around the Temple of the One showed signs of damage, missing chunks of marble replaced with mortar and stone. The whole place in fact had looked quite mottled in places.

"That was where most of the fighting was located," Ra'jirra replied, "But gates opened everywhere. They say one opened up in the Markets right outside Jensine's shop, and daedra poured right through her door." He shook his head. "Poor woman never stood a chance."

**Subsequently:**

Draco looked at the horse with trepidation. Uriel looked at him with resignation, knowing a novice rider when he saw one.

Neville gaped at his mount with abject terror. The roan mare tossed her head and blew derisively, not helping at all.

"Wouldn't we be better off riding our brooms?" was Ron's understandable query.

Hermione just huffed. "Ron, do you really think that Harry's father would pick out dangerous horses for us?" With all the confidence that young girls of a certain upbringing seem to have around equines, she grasped the reins of the Leyawiin white she'd been provided, led him to the fence, and used that to get into the saddle. A stablehand immediately came and adjusted the stirrups for her feet.

"I didn't know you rode," Harry said admiringly. He was already mounted on Martin and was walking him around, trying to work off the bay yearling's energy.

Draco's lips tightened. There was no way that he was going to be shown up here! Drawing all the pride of the Malfoys about him, he straightened his back and approached Uriel. Placing both hands on top of the saddle, he lifted his foot to the stirrup, kicked off with the other, slipped out of said stirrup and fell to the ground. Uriel just blew in disgust and sidled away.

"Try using the fence," Ra'jirra said from atop his own white. Needless to say the old Khajiit looked quite at home riding a horse. "Or get someone to help you up."

The blonde boy didn't reply, as he was busy using _scourgify_ on himself. "I'll be fine," he declared, approaching Uriel again. The gelding just sighed and braced himself for the inevitable. "Just need to make sure that..."

This time Draco's foot stayed in the stirrup, and he managed, to Uriel's surprise,to get into the saddle with only a little scrabbling. He straightened up, quite pleased with himself.

"Better than me," Zul rumbled as he rode Menien out of the stable. The muscular chestnut's white blaze matched the feathers on his sturdy legs. There was Skyrim blood in him, mixed with the fiery stuff that flowed in Cheydinhal blacks, but his coat was pure Chorrol.

The children blinked. Zul had changed into an impressive suit of armour, with an equally impressive battleaxe slung over his back. They would do the same when his wife emerged, resplendent in her steel and surcoat bearing the stag.

"Fell off a dozen times, first day," he added, moving over to where Neville stood petrified before the mare. He looked thoughtfully at the boy, then grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, lifted him up in one hand and dropped him into Renault's saddle.

Neville was too shocked and surprised, and Zul was trying to get him to sit properly, for them to notice the mare rolling her eyes disgustedly. No doubt she'd have to carry this lump the whole damn way.

Ron set his jaw and looked at his own mount, a bay mare, and went confidently to grasp her saddle. He got his foot in the stirrup first time, and hauled himself up and into position with only one slight problem.

Not finding those 'rain' things, he blinked stupidly at Clover's tail, which swished back at him.

**Some humiliation and one successful mounting later:**

"Right then," Ra'jirra informed everyone about an hour later, "To be on the safe side we'll take the high road to Fort Virtue – I dunno why but bandits keep turning up in Fanacasecul – have lunch, then get on to Pell's Gate by dusk, hopefully."

"We'll take care of any trouble," Zul added. "Stay with us. Do as you're told. Got it?"

"Harry, that means you," Ra'jirra gave a mock-glare at his son, "no showing off."

He looked around, then turned his horse and set off. The five children, Zul and Mazoga followed.

Hermione, Draco, Neville and even Ron looked about with interest. From this vantage point, they could already see the central tower of the Imperial City rising like a massive axle from a wheel. Northward, a crumbling stone pile could be seen through the trees, while whitish spires poked up in the south. As they climbed further into the hills and began the sidle toward Fort Virtue and the beginning of the Gold Road, the white spires showed themselves to be the remnants of old walls, bracketing a statue sinking into the water.

"Fanacasecul," Ra'jirra explained to them, pointing at it. "The northwest corner there has a door into the catacombs below, but they're full of undead. And up top..." He squinted. "Yup. Bandits. Perfect place to hide and prepare an ambush. That's why we're up here."

"They wouldn't attack us surely!" Hermione's exclamation caused Harry to roll his eyes and the other boys to flinch. "I mean, you're the Arch-Mage, and they're, um..."

"We aren't exactly sending heralds ahead, girl," the old Khajiit wasn't amused. "All they'll see is a potential target. Three adults and five kids. I make four of the buggers at least and one's probably a hedge witch, so I'm not taking chances with you being killed or flogged off as slaves."

"What sort of building was that?" Draco asked. "It doesn't seem to match the city, or that village we passed through."

"Ayleid," Zul said from behind them. "Bad bastards. Slavers. Torturers. Same as up there. Their capital. Ours now."

"Apparently it was a port," Harry added.

The children cast looks at the old ruins as they began to descend through trees towards another dull, squat stub of a long-fallen tower. "Fort Virtue," Ra'jirra identified it, then looked sternly at Harry. "No entry. We hop up the top there, eat our lunch in the sun, then – hey Zul, you and Mazoga want to lead?"

"Probably a good idea," Mazoga grinned, "plenty of opportunity for mischief." Her face grew serious. "Do you want to hug the water and avoid Vindasel?"

"Yeah," her husband grunted as he dismounted, "conjurers suck."

Someone had placed several loose stones to make a step up to the platform above the ancient doors. Draco noted with amusement that Hermione was walking a little stiffly as well.

"I thought you'd ridden before," he did very well at not openly smirking.

"Not for so long at a time," Hermione's tone was a little snippy.

Ra'jirra hadn't been lying about the view either. You could see the Imperial City and clear down to the Talos Bridge, which officially marked the southern end of Lake Rumare.

Lunch consisted of apples and a selection of cold cuts on bread. Ron began to gobble as he usually did but stopped abruptly when Zul cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Manners," the big Orisimer and his wife were both looking at him disgustedly, "Food can't run."

Ron gaped, forgetting about the mouthful he was in the middle of eating, and ignorant of the triumphant looks Hermione, Draco and Harry were sharing. "And let the twins prank me? No way!"

Silence fell, broken by Ra'jirra. "Your brothers play jokes at the dinner table?"

"Yeah," Ron had the decency to swallow, although he looked a bit pained as the mouthful was slightly larger than a gulletful. "They're always coming up with pranks, and if you're not careful they'll slip some into your food, or your clothes, or somewhere in your room – just to see what it does! One time I spent the entire day being pursued by randy gnomes, and another time my tongue swelled up six foot long. And it's always me! Ginny's too good with hexes to even risk it."

"Who's Ginny?"

"His little sister," Harry clarified, "she starts Hogwarts next year."

"Well the twits aren't here, so you can slow down and actually taste your food."

"You mean twins."

"I know what I said, young man."

Ron blinked at this, then spent the rest of the lunch trying to forget years of training at the hands of his brothers. While he did this, the adults described what could be seen.

"That bit of wall down there's where the Harbour District is – I think the Ayleids used it as a navy dock or something. There's a tunnel that runs up to the Temple District from it. Used to have a shack there before I landed better digs. Inland – see that bit of stone? Shrine to Clavicus Vile – one of the daedra princes. I stay away from them myself."

"I couldn't," Zul chipped in, "His Majesty's orders."

Ra'jirra's ears went back slightly, then he resumed. "We're heading south. See that blocky white building? Entrance to Vindasel. Historians say it was used to punish slaves. Now it's a magnet for every rogue conjurer – all those souls who suffered and died there. It's close to the road so we'll probably hig the coastline – mind the mudcrabs."

He pointed down below the fort, where a crab the size of a labrador was scuttling out of the water towards a clump of grasses.

"Once past, Zul and Mazoga will take point and get us over the Old Bridge. Not so much trolls but bandits tend to set up camp there when they're not faffing around in Fort Homestead – you can see it on the water's edge there," he jabbed a finger south towards another crumbling tower. "After that though it's clear riding to Pell's Gate, then we start climbing up the Green Road to Faregyl. So you ride when I say ride, stop when I say stop, let us do all the heavy lifting."


	3. Chapter 3

**For those who came in late:**

This is just a bit of fun. Although the fun's about to be interrupted real soon now. And this chapter fought like a bastard.

**Yeah... about that:**

After lunch, everyone had remounted and started southward to Pell's Gate, deviating from the road past a wayshrine ("Dibella's," Zul had identified it) to avoid Vindasel. Ra'jirra had stopped at one point, looking towards it and the figures wandering around. "Thought so," he said sourly, "the bloody conjurers are back."

High cloud drew across the sky like ragged net curtains, blunting the sun's rays. The first bridge had been crossed, and the children's attention was drawn to a stone adorned in red patterns.

"What's that?" Hermione asked before anyone else could.

"Doomstone," Ra'jirra said from up ahead, "They're all over Tamriel. If you visit them at night, you can invoke them for a boon. Lot like the shrines of the Nine."

"Isn't Quill-Weave writing a series about them?" Harry asked suddenly, "I remember seeing something about it ages ago in the Courier."

"Well she can't crank out books overnight," Ra'jirra grunted, "but I know she's wrong about the Doomstones."

"You and me both," Zul agreed.

"Hold," Ra'jirra reined in his horse and waited for the children to come to a halt. He dismounted, readying his bow, and squinted suspiciously at the far side of the large, very old bridge. Two metallic thumps behind them indicated that Zul gro-Radagash and Mazoga had also dismounted.

"I count four," the Khajiit said quietly, "I think there's an archer on the far side and the rest are – hold on, make it five. They've got some hedge witch."

"From Homestead?" Zul unsheathed his battleaxe slowly.

"Might be, doing well though. That big fellow's in steel, but check out him with the kynreeve's shield."

"Homestead then," the big Orisimer nodded.

"We should pay the buggers another visit sometime," Mazoga was wielding an immense claymore and an evil smile. "Naughty bandits shouldn't play in old castles."

Harry squirmed with embarrassment in his saddle.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco looked curiously at Harry.

"Remember how Dad was looking at me when we stopped at Fort Virtue? One time I... um... snuck inside and... well, I got lost," Harry's face started to turn red. "Dad had to put down a lot of ghosts and skeletons to reach me, and then this spectral warrior came out of nowhere. He was mad and I was..." he shivered. "I don't like the old forts any more."

"I'll deal to the archer," Ra'jirra was saying, "and the spell-slinger. You two get to have the real fun once they step on the bridge. As for you five –" his finger drew a circle around the children – "you stay on this side of the bridge and try to avoid anything coming your way. _Don't_ interfere. Got it?"

**One fairly quick and slightly unevenly matched dust-up later:**

Hermione had come close to death barely two months ago – in fact she'd seen Harry inflict dreadful wounds on the troll – but the troll had been knocked out, not _killed_.

The slack face of the bandit, with its green skin and tusks, reminded her of that. The brains oozing out of the freshly cracked open skull, however, were novel. Not to mention nauseating.

Ron had also come close to death, but this was different. These weren't stupid trolls, but people. People who knew what they were doing, and knew when they were overmatched.

Notice had been served when Ra'jirra fired a high shot that didn't reach the ground, owing to an archer's shoulder being in the way. His cry had alerted the other bandits, who'd almost immediately formed a line across the bridge, one man in robes – probably the 'hedge wizard' the Arch-Mage had sneered about – hanging back.

All three had dismounted, Ra'jirra nocking another arrow before sending it aloft, while Mazoga, followed by Zul, started across the bridge in what wasn't a charge so much as an advance. All three adults knew better than to wear yourself out before actually going to work. They also kept to the left-hand side, meaning that any opposition would be met by the widest arc of attack.

The wizard jumped, apparently startled by nearly getting skewered. Looking around, he spotted the Orisimers and threw lightning at them. This caused their advance to pause and their tempers to shorten.

It also caused the other three to start their own charge, attempting to get the first blows in.

One of the bandits was a fairly large Nord, rendered frightening by streaks of woad and bulky fur armour, as well as a shield seemingly made out of the same evil red and black substance as Harry's magic dagger.

"Is that a... um... bound shield?" Neville was staring less from professional interest and more from abject terror.

"Nah, genuine daedric," Harry shook his head, "probably lifted off some other poor sod. Some dremora tote 'em as badges of office, or so Dad says."

The Nord in question had apparently decided that Mazoga was the primary threat, and was leading with his shield. The scowling Redguard beside him, on the other hand, recognised that Zul was just as problematic and pushed ahead, trusting the Nord to keep the orc bitch busy while he chopped down the other greenskin with a strangely shining axe.

Ra'jirra snarled "Why me?" in annoyance as bandit number three – an extremely angry Orisimer in steel, brandishing a huge hammer made of some greenish material – took aim in his direction. Loosing one more arrow more or less in the outlaw wizard's direction, he replaced bow with mace in his right hand, pulling a bound shield out of Aetherius with his left.

Mazoga's Nord charged shield first, lifting his sword for an overhand chop. The knight's reaction was swing her own sword across and back, bracing her forearm and dipping the point of the blade, before meeting that shield with her own shoulder. The Nord rocked back slightly and his own swing missed biting into the Orisimer woman's left shoulder by about two inches.

With an angry cry Mazoga sliced the blade into the Nord's side and across his belly, cutting into the furs, but the bandit was already stepping back and swinging that shield into position. Snarling with annoyance she lifted her claymore into a defensive position again and waited for his next move.

Behind her, Zul was in no hurry to learn what enchantment was on that axe, thank you very much. Looked yellow though, so it would probably mess up his armour or weapon. Said axe was being held low across the bandit's torso in a worryingly professional fashion. Deserter. Zul's eyes narrowed. He didn't like deserters.

A distant cry of "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" was followed by a startled yelp from the Orisimer bandit. While he was still gripping his war-hammer, it was apparently trying to fly away. Ra'jirra saw his opportunity at once and took it with a not particularly elegant overhand smash to the face.

It was almost a repeat of what happened at Halloween. The orc let go of his weapon and grabbed at his face – the Khajiit mage took another swing, this time smashing into the scofflaw's left ear – then jumped out of the way as the hammer, freed from both its owner's grip and the levitation charm, came down with a sound like a dropped pumpkin.

Beside them, Zul took the opportunity to get right in the Redguard's face, dropping his axe and slamming him to the ground. The two started to wrestle, the ex-Legionnaire trying to throw the angry and decidedly heavy Champion of Cyrodiil off and get his own weapon back, and Zul doing his very best to pull his opponent's head either clean off his neck or just turn it inside out.

"What the hell are you doing?" Hermione screamed at an unashamed Harry, "we were told to keep out of this!"

"We _are_ involved," Harry snorted, watching his father step over the motionless shape and advance towards the remaining two bandits, "if they fall, it's up to us, and..."

He trailed off as Ra'jirra paused, then bashed his shield into the Nord's backside. The bandit stumbled, and Mazoga took her cue.

A summoned shield, applied to sturdy Skyrim buttocks, makes a dull sound, rather like _whap._ Skyrim males, when one skewers them around the kidneys, tend to scream like little girls.

Any gentlemen readers of similar descent who work in similar situations, and wish to avoid screaming like little girls, are advised to do two things: avoid being knocked off balance, and make sure that one's armour actually overlaps at the waistband. A third option is to avoid angering Orisimer of any sex.

Mazoga tore her blade free of the hapless Nord and kicked him in the stones. He doubled over in even more pain, dropping his sword as he tried to literally keep himself together, then went flying as she kicked him again in the head, gore spraying her liberally before she stabbed her claymore into the man's chest as though digging a posthole.

Ra'jirra meanwhile was exchanging spells with the hedge witch, trying to keep the sod from getting the archer back into service. Zul was still methodically banging the Redguard's head on the stones, and Harry was flexing his wand hand ominously.

"Shouldn't we just leave well alone?" Hermione was _not_ getting hysterical. After all, they'd been _told_ to stay out of it, and Harry had _disobeyed_ his own father, and what would happen if –

"_Spongify!_" Ron sent an oddly fluffy-looking purple spell in the archer's direction.

"Seriously?" Draco stared at him incredulously.

"First one I could think of, okay?" Ron shrugged. After all, they were already in trouble, and why should Harry get all the credit?

The archer himself was seriously thinking of just making a run for it. But right now, he needed his bow – and there it was, a shape just behind the silver sparkles. He grabbed it and prepared to nock an arrow just as a flash of purple smacked into it.

An astonished cry left his lips as the sturdy oak wood drooped and flopped in his hand like fennel leaves, the string slipping off limply. Then awareness left him forever in a rip of red and black energy.

The hedge wizard fumbled a potion out of his belt as the fur-licker approached. He'd suspected something was dodgy from the way the three had ridden, and the fact their gear was in such good nick, but would the others listen? No. And it seemed the brats they were escorting knew something about spells. And this was a magicka potion. No running away then.

"Eat spell, furface!" He sent a fireball at his opponent.

Ra'jirra just snarled, then loosed Wizard's Fury down his mace. The effect was quite spectacular, the hapless wizard convulsing uncontrollably as he soiled himself, also catching fire and freezing at the same time. Ice crystals formed and sublimated into steam almost immediately in his flesh, creating horrific wounds.

The death-blow the Arch-Mage gave him was almost a mercy.

Ra'jirra turned from the corpse and headed back to the bridge. Mazoga had already shoved the Nord aside and was leaning on her sword, watching her husband retrieve his axe, take aim, and neatly behead the thoroughly unconscious Redguard.

"Deserter," Zul remarked, "Hate deserters."

"Time to chat with the Legion again," Ra'jirra huffed as he arrived. Despite having quite the experience and reputation, fighting is no career for old men. "Let's get the kids to Faregyl."

The three salvaged everything valuable from the bodies, including that really quite nice glass war-hammer, then ambled over to where the children sat on their horses. Menien blew and stomped a hoof, glaring reproachfully at Zul.

"Sorry," Zul grunted to his steed, "your job's guarding the children."

Menien just blew in annoyance. While guarding these two-legged colts meant he was close to some rather fine mares, said colts were still on them, which made relations difficult. As such the stallion felt a little cheated.

"Right," Ra'jirra said sternly, "We've some salvage to take with us, so some of you will have to tote a few things behind your saddles. Now who was casting?"

"I did," Harry and Ron said simultaneously. The old Khajiit just glowered at them.

Draco couldn't resist. "Ron cast a softening charm," he sniggered, then swallowed as Ra'jirra's glare turned on him.

"It still evened the odds, mister," he said at last, "but next time, when I say _stay out of it,_" and he looked pointedly at Harry, "You do just that. Now we've got to cross that bridge, so keep your mounts on a tight rein."

And they did just that, all eight moving briskly. Neville, Draco, Hermione and Ron looked at the state of the bridge and found the backs of their horses' necks quite fascinating.

Hermione's attention was caught by Menien kicking sideways at something, and she involuntarily looked down.

It was a _very_ grumpy Leyawiin mare that delivered Hermione Granger to Faregyl Inn later that evening. Vomit and horsehair don't go together at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**For those who came in late:**

Harry and his friends have opted to spend Christmas/Saturalia at Harry's home, and so far have seen the Imperial City, a cross-section of the lower Lake Rumare, and how outlaws are dealt to Tamriel style.

This omake's about to end soon in a sputter of world-building. Filling in the gaps of a fantasy world can be exhausting, hence the long delay. I think I'll get the kids into a spot of trouble next chapter.

**Right, let's get on with it then...**

The road from Pell's Gate crested just above the top of a waterfall before sinking into a valley from which smoke rose from numerous chimneys. Faregyl was clearly a prosperous rural village, surrounded by fields and the edge of the Great Forest. Zenithar's wayshrine gleamed close to the road, and...

"What on earth is that?" Draco rolled his eyes at Hermione, then frowned when he saw what had caught her attention.

What she was pointing at was a slope of earth, left of the road, that seemed to have been blasted as if by dragon's fire. In the centre, two shattered stone pillars stood, the air between them tinted with an almost sulky reddish glow. On one side, fleshy vines twitched in a non-existent breeze. The whole area was walled off with cruel spikes on top, pointing inward.

"That was an Oblivion gate," Ra'jirra said at last, "One minute I'm having breakfast and the next – there's an almighty red bang and there it was with daedra spewing out of it! Spent all day and all night closing the damn thing."

"He had to go through the gate into Oblivion," Harry added helpfully, "fighting dremoras and daedroths and things, to get all the way to the top of the sigil tower and remove the stone and then there was this great big _bang!_ And the sky turned blue again and there's Dad in the rubble, looking pissed off and with this screaming sigil stone in his mitts."

"Still get a few appearing sometimes," Ra'jirra added, glaring at the fenced-off gate, "So wise children stay the hells away from it."

Harry's neck turned pink.

Magnus was on the home stretch to sunset; the windows were already beginning to twinkle with lamps and candles as his light slid away. The party turned right, towards the largest building. Faregyl Inn had undergone an understandable expansion with the residence of the Arch-Mage – mainly because Ra'jirra didn't feel worthy of inhabiting Traven's old chambers. However, the inevitable crust of bootlickers and upper echelons felt the need for proximity; this required additional rooms and crops to feed the extra mouths. Funnily enough, there were plenty of refugees from Kvatch looking for a place to call home and a trade to support themselves, thus the inn had doubled in size from what it had been when Ra'jirra was still an innocent Associate on the grand tour.

Draco kept his dismay to himself, suspecting that things would be much more luxurious on the inside.

"Home at last," Ra'jirra said happily as they drew to a halt before the stables, then heaved himself out of the saddle with a grunt. The day had been noticeably strenuous. The children followed with varying degrees of expertise and their mounts blew with varying degrees of relief.

"Might as well stay the night," Zul remarked to his wife.

"Damn straight," Mazoga agreed, "I prefer to see 'em coming. That way they know how they're gonna die."

"My own heart," Zul said affectionately.

Draco and Hermione refrained from joining in the covert gagging.

Ra'jirra led them inside the inn, turning right and down some steps to a large common room that smelled of woodsmoke, food, drink and sweat. A counter swept between the entry and the cellar door; small windows glittered darkly in the light of candles that (strangely, according to Ron, Hermione and Draco) didn't float, but sat staidly in sconces and candelabras. Round tables supported groups of people all eating, drinking, and talking together.

As Ra'jirra stumped in, the sound level dipped briefly, before rising again: "Ra'jirra! – The Arch-Mage's back! – Is that the Count behind him? – and his wife too – Hey! There's Harry! – S'jirra! Your husband's home!" emerged from the babel.

"This one has eyes to see herr Rra'jirra's back," declared a matronly Khajiit whose fur was as silvered as Ra'jirra's own, but the sparkle in her eyes was much younger. The two embraced, kissing each other on the lips, before the Arch-Mage grinned rakishly and licked his wife's nose, making her giggle.

"Stop that! Unless you want little rrest tonight," S'jirra warned him to a chorus of knowing laughter and catcalls, then disengaged as she spotted her stepson. "Harrry," her accent turned his name into a loving purr, "This one has missed you, it has been so long, have you been well? How arre they trreating you..."

The four wizarding children all looked at each other nervously. There were certain adventures they'd had which S'jirra might take amiss, involving mandrakes, a cerberus, and of course the troll.

Ron's stomach cut S'jirra's embrace of Harry short, and quite loudly too. It sounded a lot like a dremora with diarrhea.

"I think he speaks for all of us," Zul remarked dryly.

S'jirra was a little surprised at Ron and his stomach requesting thirds. "I never thought pork could be this tasty," he explained, indicating where two rounds of roast had been ransacked.

"Thanks," a Bosmer at the next table grinned, "caught it today myself. We have to keep S'jirra's potatoes safe, don't we?"

This raised laughter and a playful swipe from the Khajiit in question.

Hermione wasn't paying attention. Her eyes had been drawn to an elaborate display case bearing a striking portrait: A young man, clad in a thoroughly un-medieval sort of jumpsuit, with a determined look in his eyes. The nameplate –

Forgetting her manners, she left the table and went over and stared. One side was in the local language – Aldmeris, Harry called it – but the other was in English.

_Doctor Earnest Haines_

_b. Vault 101 2259 – d. Jefferson Memorial, Washington DC 2277_

"_I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely." - Revelations 21:6_

Her eyes wandered about the case of anachronisms. Some sort of boxy weapon took centre stage, flanked by other items and battered objects that made no sense to her. There was another book, more a folio: _The Wasteland Survival Guide. _Smaller paintings showed the man and Ra'jirra himself apparently travelling through a landscape of parched earth and shattered buildings, fighting creatures that wouldn't have looked out of place on the covers of Fifties pulps.

"They're on loan, actually," Ra'jirra said behind her, "from the Institute of Technological Philosophy. Harry's not the first Champion," she could hear the capital letters, "of Earth we've been sought to aid."

"Champion of Earth?" Her confusion began to express itself in the only way she knew. "You've been to the future? Our future? What happened? What was a Vault? What –"

The boys, as one, looked at her, groaned, and dropped their heads in their hands.

"Apparently they had a, whajamacallit, nuclear war," the old Khajiit remarked, "still, this isn't _your_ Earth's future. Look at that flag badge."

His silvered finger indicated an almost familiar cloth patch. There were the red and white bars, but the stars were circling around a central one. "That's not the US flag...?" Hermione's mind stuttered to a halt as she tried to work it out.

"Was on that Earth," Ra'jirra explained. "When Harry sent a letter home with a drawing of the US flag from _yours,_ we realised we were... um... in touch with another one. Being clever we call that one Earth 1 and yours Earth 2."

Hermione's eyes glazed over as proof of the Many Worlds theory of quantum mechanics stared her in the face.

"I reckon the Nine had a hand in us reaching your world, or worlds," Ra'jirra went on relentlessly. "I guess your gods needed a bit of a hand, and since the Nine don't mind getting their hands dirty, guess who got roped in?"

The boys marvelled at the sight of Hermione Granger suffering Too Much Information Syndrome for a change.

"To me it sounds a bit like the result of a Dragon Break event, or something similarly re..." the old Khajiit trailed off as he looked at Hermione's face. "Tell you what, we'll discuss it tomorrow or something, unless Harry gives you the grand tour first."


End file.
